Trapped In Reality
by Dark Spell
Summary: ..."I couldn't let go. Letting go of you meant saying good-bye and admitting to myself that you were... dead."... JT reflects on her suicide. [Sequel to My Last Breath]


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**A/N:** Took long enough to get this out. I was trying to get this out last week but ended up going to yet another tournament. And school's been hectic so I can't update very often. 

Anyways, to those who have no idea what's going on here...I'd suggest reading My Last Breath beforehand, seeing this is a sequel and all and the fact that reading this before MLB would probably ruin the ending. But then again, it's your choice.

The thoughts are kind of jumbled in this fic, because he's trying to cope with everything, so it may be slightly confusing.

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"Goodnight J.T..." You whispered as your eyes glazed over and your skin went cold. 

I held you as tight as my trembling arms would let me, even when the paramedics came downstairs and pulled me away I didn't let go. I couldn't let go. Letting go of you meant saying good-bye and admitting to myself that you were... dead.

Dead. Lifeless. Gone.

What the hell, Em? Why'd you do this to me?... I know everything's come crashing down around you, I know Simpson's cancer's back, I know your grades are slipping, God Emma, I even know you haven't cried in months. Months, as in five. I still remember the last day I saw you cry, I remember it like it was yesterday.

You called me in the middle of the night and told me your biological father had passed away. I went with you to his funeral, and held your hand as the priest gave a speech. After the funeral, I stayed with you at his grave while everyone else slowly headed home, until we were the only ones left.

Then you leaned your head on my shoulder as tears began to slip from your eyes. I wrapped my arms around you and held you as you cried. We stood there for hours, not leaving until the blue in the sky turned black and it grew to dark to see.

Now you're just a statistic. One of the thousands of teen suicides in Canada. Is this what you wanted Emma? To be a fucking number in a stupid record book? I thought you wanted to make a name for yourself, to do something with your life, not just become an anonymous number.

But apparently I was wrong.

They held your funeral yesterday. It was a mass of people dressed in black attire. Of course, I didn't wear black. Because you hated it, said it sucked the life out of everything. So instead, I wore white with a green tie---your favorite color. I kept thinking that _maybe_, just maybe, if I wore green you'd know how much I love (loved?) you and come running back to me.

But you didn't, and the agonizing funeral went on.

Everyone came, even Manny. I don't know why, everyone knows how much you despised her (I don't blame you for hating her, after what she became). Sean was there too, with Ellie. He wanted me to know he was sorry, for that spat you two had nearly a year ago.... if it still means anything to you.

The preacher was awful. Dammit Emma, he didn't even _know _you and yet he gave an hour long eulogy about how good a person you were. He's such an asshole. You _weren't_ a good person, you were an amazingly perfect person. And I loved you for being that. After he finished his speech, I wanted to hit him. Yes, Em, it's true, I wanted to hit the pastor. I wanted to hit a man of God. He just didn't seem to understand how much you meant to everyone, especially me. It was like he was only there to get paid, not to mourn your death with us.

When you died Em, a part of me died with you. Without you here, life just isn't the same. Part of me wants to end it all now, and come chasing after you. But I can't. Mom has me on lockdown. After that night, she's had several psychiatrists come to "see how I was doing" or in others words, exam my sanity.

They asked me all sorts of questions, the most popular one seemed to be my feelings on your suicide. Stupid shrinks, how do they think I feel? Sad? Right. I'm sad. I'm a fucking member of my own pity party. Yeah right. I felt like screaming at them when they asked me how I felt. To be honest, I felt like murdering them, right on the spot. Balling my fists up and launching them into their faces until they were nothing but a pile of mush....

Damn. I'm sorry Emma, I guess I really have lost my sanity. And my temper.

Without you here, everything just seems like a blur. I can't think straight. I'm caught in a whirlwind, trapped, confused and alone.

I feel broken. Broken on the inside, like a child's toy missing its batteries.

Maybe I should just end it all now... And begin the search for you in heaven. I think I read somewhere that slitting your wrists isn't too painful...

No. Must. Stop. These. Thoughts.

Before I go crazy. Then again, maybe I already am. It's hard to tell these days...

I hope you're still waiting Em, like you promised. Because I swear, I'll be coming after you. I swear on Degrassi, my life and the green tie I wore to your funeral that someday I'll be coming to find you in heaven.

As for now, I'm out of paper.

And trapped in reality.

Love Always,

J.T.

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Spare the time to review?... 

And if possible, let me know if you think this should stay a one-shot or add more chapters to it... Kind of like letters from him to her, and other characters opinions about the suicide. I have some written, but I'm still unsure, let me know what you think.


End file.
